


and finding answers (is forgetting all of the questions we called home)

by starsinherblood



Series: Rayllum Valentine's Week 2021 [3]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Callum is still ridiculously dense, Gen, Post-Canon, Rayllum Valentine's Week 2021, older rayllum, so far - Freeform, the wind is also a character in this apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29554164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsinherblood/pseuds/starsinherblood
Summary: For the Day Six: Promise prompt for Rayllum ValentinesAfter a run-in with Viren and Claudia, Callum awakens with no memory past the afternoon he learned assassins were coming for King Harrow. The world, and the people he loves, have changed significantly, and he struggles to reconcile with the new world he's found himself in. And somehow, at the center of the past he doesn't remember, is a Moonshadow elf who knows him better than he knows himself.
Relationships: Callum/Rayla (The Dragon Prince)
Series: Rayllum Valentine's Week 2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2159226
Comments: 47
Kudos: 84





	1. Hand

**Author's Note:**

> So the "Day Six: Promise" prompt for Rayllum Valentine's week on tumblr made my brain go "AMNESIAAAAAA" for some reason, and here we are. I did not intend for it to be this long--I even told a friend it was going to be a short one-shot--but uh. I may have gotten carried away. I am soooo glad this is finally done, as much as I enjoyed working on it...
> 
> It's also veryyyy different from the other fics I've written for Rayllum Valentines. Lots of angst. Pining Rayla. Ultra-dense Callum. (Though in his defense, he's got a lot going on.)
> 
> Warnings for depictions of panic attacks, and reference to torture but nothing graphic.

i. hand

Callum awoke with the worst headache he’d ever had in his life.

He couldn’t tell how long he lay in bed for, cradling his head and trying not to think. At one point someone opened the curtains, but thankfully closed them again pretty quickly after an exceptionally embarrassing sound escaped from his throat.

A few times, someone tried to get him to drink something. The first time he was in too much pain to cooperate, but after that . . . he wasn’t sure if he felt a little better, or was just more used to it, or maybe his thirst was bad enough, but he let their small hands guide his own to bring the flask to his mouth.

Eventually, ever so slowly, the pain began to ebb, and he could begin to think again. For the life of him he couldn’t remember how or when it had started, but concentrating too hard made the pain worsen again. That wasn’t right; Callum remembered _everything_. Frustrated, he buried his head farther into the pillow.

When he finally brought himself to sit up, the pain down to a dull ache, he realized how strange the room around him was. The décor had more floral motifs than he was used too, and the color scheme was mostly comprised of blue and white, with gold accents. Delicate fabrics draped the walls, most imprinted with stylized lilies, of all things. He was alone.

He spied a wash basin in the corner of the room, and suddenly realized how grimy he felt. He pulled himself to his feet, groaning as his sore muscles stretched. Looking around the room from his new perspective, he frowned. Why was everything so short? Where _was_ he?

He staggered to the wash basin and splashed some water on his face, bringing cool relief. He rubbed his face, grimacing at the prickliness of his cheeks and chin.

Wait a minute. Grasping the sides of the basin, he looked up into the mirror.

He didn’t recognize the wide-eyed face that stared back.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The face was strikingly similar to his, if his face was leaner and harder and somehow able to grow anything more than peach fuzz. He brought a hand up to stroke the neat, closely trimmed beard that was _somehow_ decorating the lower half of his face. That brought his attention to his arm, exposed by his sleeveless tunic, _much_ more defined than he remembered and decorated with a string of strange runes painted down its length.

“What the hell,” he muttered, and jolted at the deep voice that came out.

Callum clambered over towards the window, tripping over unsteady legs, and threw the curtains open. He didn’t recognize the landscape beyond, though at this point he hadn’t expected to. A city made of white stone spread out below, glinting in the sunlight. Golden fields and rolling hills stretched beyond.

 _Okay, okay_. He stared down at his hands, gripping the windowsill hard enough to turn his knuckles white. A ring glinted on his left hand. His brain, already struggling to process, stalled. _What is going on?_ Squeezing his eyes shut, he put his back to the wall and slid down to sit against it.

The door to his room flew open, and a familiar figure barreled through. “Callum! You’re awake! It’s _so_ good to see you up, buddy!”

Callum just stared up at the cheerful young man before him. Even this was wrong, even if it was a nice wrong. Soren wasn’t this openly friendly. Or this genuinely happy. This was . . . a good thing, probably, but Callum couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his gut.

Grinning, Soren looked over at the man who’d followed him in. “See? I told you as soon as we convinced her to take a break, he’d wake up.”

The other man, who also wore the colors of a Katolin crownguard but whose armor was more akin to that of a scout, snorted. “Well, _you_ can be the one to go tell her, then.”

“Soren, where’s Ezran? Where’s my brother?” Callum demanded. “Where’s King Harrow?”

Both men froze.

“Uh . . . what?” Soren asked slowly.

Callum gritted his teeth. “Where’s Ezran and my stepdad? Are they safe? Did the elves attack?” He pulled himself up, leaning against the wall.

Faces suddenly grave, Soren and his fellow crownguard looked at each other. The other man nodded slowly. “I’ll go get His M—Ezran.”

“No. I’m coming with you.” Callum pushed off from the wall, still shaky.

“Callum . . .”

Angrily, Callum pushed Soren’s hand from his shoulder and stumbled toward the door. “I have to get out of this room.”

xXx

Soren sent the other man, Corvus, ahead to given Ezran a heads up. At least that meant Ez was okay, probably, though that small assurance didn’t help Callum’s mental state much. They were only about a dozen steps down the hall when Callum grudgingly relented and let Soren help support him. It was less awkward than he had imagined, given that he was just about Soren’s height. But that only added to his apprehension. It was just _wrong_.

After several long hallways and a set of wide, curving stairs that proved difficult enough to be embarrassing, the two of them approached a set of grand double doors decorated with yet another lily motif. A pair of guards in unfamiliar blue and white uniform flanked the doors.

 _Finally_ , something clicked in Callum’s brain. “Lilies. White and blue. Those are symbols of Duren.”

“Ah, yup,” Soren said cautiously. “That’s, uh, where we are. Duren Palace.”

“Why?” Callum asked. “How did we get here? How long was I out?”

“You know what, I’m going to let Ez and Rayla answer those questions.”

Callum frowned.

The guards opened the doors, and the two of them stepped into a grand hall. The unfamiliar throne at the far end was empty, but several people in a mix of fine robes and armor had gathered around a large table in the middle.

“ _Callum!_ ”

Callum glanced in the direction of the unfamiliar voice to find Corvus gently restraining a young woman. She glared up at the crownguard, face twisted in a snarl, but Corvus bent down and whispered urgently to her. The anger on her face melted into confusion. She looked back at Callum, worried, and he finally registered the marks on her face and the horns rising from her pale hair.

He stared back. What was an _elf_ doing here?

Then again, he didn’t even know what _he_ was doing here, so . . .

“Callum! Thank the Primals!” A pair of lean arms enveloped Callum from the front, and he found his face crushed into a mess of poofy brown hair. “I . . . I thought we might lose you.”

Callum relaxed slightly for the first time since waking up. This was better. Relieved, he hugged his brother tighter. Something hard pressed into the hollow of his throat.

After a moment, Ezran pulled back. He gripped Callum’s shoulders, looking both relieved and worried. “Corvus said . . . you’re not feeling the best yet, though? That you don’t remember what happened?”

Ezran was taller too, though still a head shorter than Callum, and his face had lost much of its baby fat. He still had his freckles, but his blue eyes were no longer those of an innocent ten-year-old. And resting on his brow . . .

Callum pulled back from his brother’s grip. “Ez . . . why . . .”

“Callum?” Ez took a step forward, reaching for him, but stopped as Callum continued to stumble backward.

“Ez, where’s King Harrow?” Callum’s voice was closer to the pitch he remembered, now that it was tinged with panic. “Why are you wearing the crown?”

Ezran’s eyes widened. Off to Callum’s right, someone gasped.

“Primals above and below.” A teenage girl in blue and white came up behind Ezran, a crown resting on her blonde hair as well. “It’s not just that he doesn’t remember what happened. Maybe the arcanum wasn’t all Viren was after.”

Ezran wearing the Katolin crown. The palace of Duren. A beard on his face. An elf in a human throne room. Callum bent almost double, cradling his head, which was pounding again. A pair of strong hands—Soren—steadied him from behind. He was almost as tall as Soren. Ez was nearly as tall as he was. Everything was so _wrong_. Spots danced in front of his eyes, darkness creeping in on his vision, and he squeezed them shut.

A deep voice off to Callum’s right swore vehemently, and suddenly another presence was at his side. A pair of small hands helped Soren lower Callum gently to the floor, then cupped his face. “Hey, hey,” a soft voice said. “Breathe. Stay with me, Callum. Breathe.”

Oh.

With a shuddering gasp, Callum forced air into his lungs. They resisted, but he did it again, and again, and each time it was a little easier.

“That’s it,” the strangely accented voice murmured. “In, and out.” The hands fell from his face, and he missed their steadying presence. Eyes still closed, he grabbed blindly until he found one again and grasped it tightly. In return, the thumbs drew circles on the back of his hand, and Callum focused on that. He sat for several minutes until his lungs were working on their own again, his head didn’t feel like it would explode any moment, and his heart had settled into a more relaxed rhythm.

He squeezed the three-fingered hand as a silent thank you.

 _Three_ fingers? Callum’s eyes flew open and he yanked his own hand back to himself, crashing into Soren as he scrambled backward.

The elf. Right. White hair had been pulled back in a messy ponytail, and dark blue tattoos marked her pale skin. A pair of intricately carved cuffs decorated her horns. Her light armor, though scuffed and dirty, was of a fine make, though the silver and pale blue coloring clashed with—

Anger jolted through Callum. “Hey! That’s _mine_!” How _dare_ —He grasped his scarf and yanked it from her neck.

The elf stared at him, shocked, one hand reaching for her throat where _his_ scarf had been.

“Who are—what are you doing here?” Callum demanded. “You’re one of—you’re one of them!” He pushed himself to his feet, shoving Soren’s hands away. “You came to kill the king, didn’t you?”

The elf opened her mouth, but no words came out. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.

_“Did you kill him?”_

“Callum.” Ezran rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Ezran, what is _that_ doing here?” Callum gestured at the elf, still kneeling on the floor.

“Callum, that’s enough,” Ezran said, voice shaking. Callum whirled to face him, but his protest died in his throat when he met his brother’s eyes.

Ezran was _crying_.

All the anger drained out of Callum like it had never been. “Ez?” He reached for his brother, horrified when Ezran took a step back. But after a split second, Ezran reached back for him.

“I’ll . . . I’ll explain in a bit,” Ezran said. Callum’s heart squeezed at the look on his face. “You should get some rest. I’ll come see you in a little while.” His voice broke. “Please?”

Callum nodded numbly, and let Corvus take his arm and lead him gently from the room.

The last thing he saw before the doors closed behind them was Ez pulling the elf into a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry :)


	2. Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you still here? Huzzah!

ii. heart

He found the elf in the courtyard, sparring with Soren.

Soren’s fighting style, though still familiar, had evolved somewhat from what he remembered. Less of an emphasis on brute strength, more controlled. The elf was utterly deadly with her twin blades, alien and mesmerizing. Soren was holding his own against her, but he was clearly used to sparring with her. To Callum, every move she made was utterly unfamiliar.

Callum briefly considered leaving and trying to find her again later, but grudgingly dismissed that idea. If he ran away now, he’d run away again, and then he’d never talk to her. And as much as the idea scared him, he knew deep inside that it was something he had to do. He was sure of very few things, at the moment, but this was one of them.

They traded blows for what seemed like an eternity, neither flagging. But the elf became more and more reckless as the fight wore on, frustration in every line of her body. Even Callum could tell she was leaving herself open too often. Soon afterwards Soren broke away, holding up a hand. The elf paused, swords still at the ready, bouncing on her toes. Soren sheathed his sword, shaking his head.

“You’re doing it again. Leaving yourself open, when you know better than that.”

“I’m not doin’ it consciously,” she said sullenly. She collapsed her swords in on themselves and sheathed them on her back.

“I know.” Soren stepped up and put a hand on her shoulder, face sympathetic. “You’re feeling too raw; you shouldn’t be sparring right now. What you need is a training dummy. Or a punching bag.”

She shrugged, not looking at him. “I guess.”

Soren squeezed her shoulder, then dropped his hand. Noticing Callum, he gave him a solemn look, then headed off towards the armory.

Callum seized his chance. “Hey—Rayla?” She turned, surprised, and Callum felt a jolt when their eyes met. He took a deep breath. “Could we talk for a minute?”

An emotion Callum didn’t recognize flashed across her face. She glanced after Soren helplessly, but he was already gone.

“I . . . I just wanted to apologize,” Callum said awkwardly. “For what—for how I acted in the throne room. And to thank you, for your help. Before . . . that.”

The elf tipped her head to the side. “Apology accepted.” And then, softer, “And of course.” Her eyes drifted over him. Feeling self-conscious, he adjusted his jacket.

He’d changed his clothes. None of the wardrobe he remembered was with them in Duren Palace, of course, and wouldn’t have fit him anyway. But with the help of several men-in-waiting, he’d found several outfits that were somewhat familiar and comforting. Most importantly, a loose jacket to cover his arms. The runes painted on them unnerved him, but he hadn’t figured out how to wash them off—soap and water didn’t work—and he was too embarrassed to ask for help.

The elf reached towards his sash, as if to help him adjust it, but Callum stepped back. Hurt flashed across her face, and she pulled her arms back into herself. “You don’t . . . remember me.” Her voice was rough.

He shook his head. “No.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, gaze on the cobblestones. “Ez told me you were there that night. In the castle, when—when our dad was killed. That you were part of the team that came to kill him. And Ezran.” He looked up and met her gaze. “But that you saved us instead.”

She shook her head. “We saved each other.”

“We were friends.”

A shudder passed through her. “We were.”

“I’m sorry,” Callum said quietly.

Her throat constricted, and she glanced away, closing her eyes.

“Ez also said you have my sketchbook,” Callum said, after a moment. “I’m hoping if . . . if I look through it, maybe it’ll help me remember.”

She just nodded, still not looking at him. “I’ll . . . I’ll brin’ it by. Later.”

“Okay. Thanks.” He waited a moment, but she didn’t move or say anything else, so he turned and headed back towards the palace.

“Callum.”

He looked back.

She was looking at him now. “If . . . if you want to try startin’ over,” she said, “to be . . . friends . . . again? I’ll be here.”

Callum just nodded, unable to think of anything to say, and not understanding why his chest fell so hollow.

xXx

In the end, he couldn’t stand the idea of sitting in that room one more minute.

He’d spent most of the almost 24 hours since he’d woken up into this . . . mess . . . in there—hiding, he had to admit to himself—and so far everyone had been willing to give him his space. But once the elf— _Rayla_ —had brought his sketchbook, the thought of spending one more minute in that small stuffy room had become utterly unbearable. Which was how he found himself in the palace gardens, seated on a smooth stone bench beneath a blooming dogwood tree. The gardens were truly a work of art, lovingly cultivated and filled with both native and exotic plants from all over the Pentarchy. But Callum barely noticed, instead staring at the unopened sketchbook in his lap, familiar and yet so, so much more worn than he remembered.

“I can’t imagine the cover looks _that_ different.”

Callum glanced up to see the blonde girl from the throne room, the one Ezran’s age and, again like Ezran, also wearing a crown. Queen Aanya. She stood several feet away, arms crossed and leaning against a tree, a knowing look on her face. Almost a smirk, but more carefully polite. A politician’s smirk.

Callum looked back down, absently brushing the cover. “I guess I’m just . . . afraid. I don’t know what I’ll find.”

Queen Aanya tilted her head, scrutinizing him. “Why? Do you think you would have drawn anything that would scare you?”

“Well, no. But I’m afraid . . . to see how much things have changed.” His grip tightened. “It’s like, I can almost pretend this is a bad dream, and maybe eventually I’ll wake up. I have an eidetic memory; I don’t just . . . _not_ remember things. Or so I thought.” He shook his head. “But if I look through my sketchbook, see my _own_ record of everything that’s happened, it’ll make it all real.”

“You’ve lost a lot,” Aanya agreed gently. She sat down next to him. “So have I. So has Ez, and Soren, and Rayla, and everyone else. It’s been hard— _really_ hard. But we’ve _gained_ things, too. We’ve grown. It hasn’t all been bad.” She placed a hand over his. “You’re missing some pretty wonderful things, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiled, a real one. “Despite everything . . . you were _happy_ , before this. You had hope.” She tapped his sketchbook. “Maybe, instead of just reminding you of everything you’ve lost, this will show you some of the _good_ changes.”

A strong breeze blew through the gardens, and Callum felt his spirit rise with it, just a little. “I . . . hadn’t thought of that,” Callum admitted. He looked down at his sketchbook again. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Queen Aanya rolled her eyes. “For goodness’ sake, Callum, just call me Aanya when we’re not in a meeting or doing anything official. Like you used to. As far as I’m concerned, that’s been the second most annoying part of this whole affair.”

Callum raised an eyebrow. “What’s the first?”

“All the _moping_ you’ve been doing lately.” She huffed and stood. “Honestly, it’s even worse than after that debacle at the Moon Nexus, because this time we have _both_ of you to deal with.”

“What’s a Moon Nexus?” He frowned. “Wait, what do you mean ‘both of you’?”

“Just take a look at your sketchbook,” Aanya said as she headed towards the garden entrance, leaving Callum sitting on the bench, white petals falling all around him. “I’m not spelling it out for you.”

xXx

Despite all the downsides of waking up years after his last memory, the fact that he was old enough to drink now was kind of nice.

Not wanting to go back to his room, but feeling the itch to move, Callum had ended up meandering the palace grounds. Soren had eventually crossed his path, and had uncharacteristically both noticed something was bothering him and asked him about it, with genuine concern. (Well, uncharacteristically as far as Callum remembered, anyway.) 

Looking through his sketchbook had been . . . hard, but it hadn’t been as bad as he’d feared. Aanya had been right; it had cheered him up a little, though it had also raised even more questions. Apparently, he and Ezran had spent much, much more time than he’d realized with the elf Rayla (and the little dragon prince) after Harrow’s assassination. There were sketches of all of them around campfires, on a couple boats, making flower crowns for each other. Sketches of Rayla looking determined, posed with twin swords. The two of them “high-fouring”, Callum’s pinky folded down. Rayla wearing . . . wearing his scarf.

At that point he’d almost closed the sketchbook out of shame, remembering how he’d torn it off her.

There were even more. They _had_ been friends. They’d been _close_. Every time he turned the page to find a new rendering of her, he felt the ache in his chest deepen, longing for something he couldn’t name. But between those, and other drawings—Soren fooling around, Ez playing with Zym, countless other people he didn’t recognize interacting and laughing, humans _and_ elves and even a couple more dragons—he’d felt a flicker of hope. Most of his sketches were light, and playful, and happy.

Maybe he could have that again.

But there were other drawings that . . . brought up decidedly less nice feelings. Ezran had alluded to some of them, in his brief and somewhat sketchy attempt to bring Callum up to speed. Stone and fire monsters that used to be men and women. A blinded dragon burning a town. Viren, eyes black.

Claudia, smiting an army.

He’d been somewhat surprised when he’d come to the end of the sketchbook. On some level he’d known he would fill it eventually, and ruefully thought that _would_ be something he didn’t remember. He wondered if he’d started another sketchbook, and resolved to ask Ezran about it. He still had so many questions, not the least of which . . . he twisted the ring on his finger, grazing the swirling pattern etched into it.

But he would do that later. Right now, he and Soren were going to have what the latter had called “good bro time”. Callum was a bit wary, but this current version of Soren had so far proven to be a much better person and caring friend than the Soren he remembered. And, well. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

Seated at the bar of a not-quite-seedy-but-not-quite-upscale tavern (not that he was any judge of such things), Callum eyed the wall of displayed beverages. “I . . . don’t even know where to start,” he admitted.

Soren snorted. “Here.” He waved for the bartender. “I’d like whatever ale is on tap, please, and my friend here’ll have a light mead. Thanks.” The woman nodded and sauntered back towards the shelves.

“Is that one I like?”

Soren shrugged. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever heard you order.”

“Do we . . . do this . . . often?” Callum asked hesitantly.

“Not as often as I’d like,” Soren said wistfully. “You guys are usually all so busy. But every once in a while, I’ll convince you and Rayla to take a night off. Ez of course can’t come, which is the only downside. Sometimes Corvus joins us, sometimes Gren if he happens to be in town. We were working our way through taverns in the city. This one was next on the list.”

The bartender dropped off their drinks. Soren started on his with gusto. Callum gave his a few sniffs before taking a cautious sip. It was surprisingly good.

As the evening wore on, he realized he was enjoying himself. Soren turned out to be very good company. He didn’t badger Callum on what he did and didn’t remember, didn’t bring up Callum’s unfortunate mental state at all. He didn’t even seem to mind that Callum didn’t want to talk much. Instead, he kept him entertained with stories from scouting missions and shenanigans with the other crownguards, and even some of his sparring sessions with Rayla, which they seemed to hold often. Callum drank slowly, nursing his drink all evening. Soren, however, quickly finished his first and second drinks, before ordering a third even bigger one, which he attacked with even more enthusiasm than the first two.

“Ahhhhh, that hits the spot.” Soren sat back and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. A full two-thirds was already gone. “I haven’t had one of these in ages. I always drink it too fast, so Rayla’s forbid me from ever drinking it in her presence again. She says it makes me too sappy.” He leaned in towards Callum, and whispered conspiratorially, “I think she’s really just concerned I’ll choke.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Callum said dryly as Soren returned to his ale. He fiddled with the mug in his hands, drink only half finished. “So you and Rayla are together, then?”

Soren spewed his drink all over the counter, earning a glare from the bartender. “Me and— _together?_ I—you—Rayla, oh _Primals—”_ He broke off, hacking and sputtering.

“You’re . . . not, then, I take it?”

“No,” Soren said, once his coughing subsided. “No. What gave you _that_ idea? I am incredibly fond of her, don’t get me wrong, just not in that way. Like at _all_.” Shaking his head, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “And anyway she’s . . . well. She’s not available.”

“Oh.” Callum thought that was an odd way to phrase it. “Is it because of some elf custom? Or just because of her job or something?” He frowned. “What _is_ her job, exactly?”

“Nothing to do with her job.” Soren waved down the bartender and gestured for another drink. “She’s a member of the Dragonguard, basically the Crownguard for the draconic royal family. She’s technically Queen Zubeia’s ambassador, but she’s also one of the leaders of the alliance.”

“She is?” Ezran had failed to mention that. And so had she—though, to be fair, it hadn’t really come up.

“When Viren captured you, Ez was an absolute wreck. Rayla . . . well, so was she, but she expresses it differently. She’s the one who convinced the council of the importance of getting you back. That was her first field mission in over a year.”

Callum slowly turned to face him. “What?”

“She’s the one who led the mission to rescue you,” Soren said. “You didn’t know?”

Callum shook his head.

Soren grimaced into his drink. “Oops.”

“Why? Why would she do that?”

“If you don’t know, buddy,” Soren said, draining his tankard and standing, “then you’re sure as hell not going to want to hear it from me.”

xXx

Callum regarded the spear in his hands skeptically. “Ez, are you sure?”

“Of course!” Ezran said, clapping his hands together enthusiastically. “You were getting really good with that thing! Maybe you don’t remember how to use it, exactly, but maybe you still have some skill in there somewhere? Because learning fighting techniques, it’s not all in your head? That’s what Soren says.”

Callum swiped the spear through the air several times. It felt long and heavy in his grip. “I don’t know, Ez.”

“It’s not like when Soren tried to teach you swordfighting when we were younger,” Ez said. Bait croaked in agreement. “You took to the spear much more readily. You even started developing your own style, to fit in with your favorite spells!”

Callum shook his head, about to comment on how he still couldn’t believe he’d learned magic, but a minor official spotted them from across the courtyard and hurried over to them. “Your Majesty,” he said to Ezran, “A letter from Councilwoman Opeli has just arrived from Katolis.”

Ez pursed his lips, expression turning grim. “I’ll be right there.” Callum went to replace his spear on the weapons rack, but Ezran waved him off. “No, you stay. What we need from you the most right now is to focus on yourself. That’s a quote from you, by the way,” he added, wagging a finger mock-sternly at Callum, “so you can’t argue. Bait, keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t accidently stab himself in the foot or something.” Callum made a face at him, but Ezran just grinned.

Callum watched him head towards the palace, stride confident but shoulders weighted. Too grown up for a teenager.

“Okay.” Callum returned his attention to the weapon in his hands. “You’re just a pointy stick. You aren’t gonna get the best of _me_.”

He tried to recreate different moves he remembered from watching drills in the courtyard growing up, but every move felt off. He stumbled more than once, scraped both ends of the spear on the cobblestones more often than not, and even managed to knock over the pile of crates, forcing Bait to leap to safety with a very displeased croak.

“Sorry, Bait.” Callum plopped down in the middle of the mess with a sigh. “Ez is going to be disappointed. I don’t think it’s going to work.” He glowered at the spear, then tossed it away. It clattered on the cobblestones, almost like it was laughing at him.

“Hey, Sad Prince, what did that spear ever do to you?”

Callum looked up to find the elf Rayla leaning against one of the columns lining the courtyard, smirking at him. Her hair was down and she wasn’t wearing her typical silvery-blue armor, but a more casual outfit. Which admittedly still looked like it was armor—maybe that was an elf thing?—but made of a more comfortable leather material in dark greens, navy blues, and blacks.

Callum glanced back at the discarded spear. “Oh, not much, just increasing my self-doubt and digging a deeper hole for my self-esteem to fall into.”

With a snort, Rayla pushed off the pillar and strode over. “It certainly didn’t look like it was a productive practice session.”

“Yeah,” Callum sighed. She offered a hand, and he let her help pull him to his feet. “I was trying to recreate the moves I remember from watching the soldiers drill.”

She hefted the spear and tossed it to him. Fumbling slightly, he nevertheless managed to catch it, to his surprise.

“That’s the problem. You’re thinkin’ about it too much.” Before even finishing her sentence, she came at him, blades twirling. Callum reacted, sidestepping out of the way and falling into a ready stance, staff raised to meet her blades before she even turned to face him again. Their weapons met with a clang, and they locked eyes.

Callum glanced down at himself, then gaped at her.

“Muscle memory,” Rayla said. “Your mind might not remember, but your body does.” They broke apart. Rayla retracted her butterfly blades and sheathed them on her back. Callum stared wonderingly at his spear.

“Look, see? You adjusted your grip when you did that.” She stepped up next to him. Her hands guided his back to the awkward grip he’d started with, then back again to where he’d held it when she’d come at him. “Feel the difference?”

“Yeah,” Callum said, surprised. He glanced at her, her face inches from his. He could see a tiny little braid tucked behind her ear, and the familiar swirling pattern decorating the cuffs on her horns. _Wait, familiar?_

She flushed slightly and stepped back. He felt the loss of warmth when her hands left his. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Probably shouldn’t have done that. I’m not used to this yet either.”

“No, it was okay,” Callum said truthfully. “I didn’t mind.” He shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Could you maybe . . . show me some more stances? Or remind me, I guess,” he amended.

She smiled, and it reached her eyes.

xXx

“Actually enjoying these functions wasn’t something I started doing before I lost my memory, right?” Callum muttered to Ezran in between guests. “Because if so, I might have to reevaluate if I actually want it back.”

Ezran snorted but managed to keep a gracious smile on his face, which was frankly rather impressive. “No, not in the least. But you _did_ manage to tolerate them better.”

Callum harrumphed, but smiled and nodded politely as the next nobility-of-some-sort grasped his hand and told him how good it was to see him alive and well. He let Ez do most of the talking, smoothing over everyone’s questions and fears.

“No, Viren did not get the information he was after.” “Yes, Prince Callum is recovering quite well, but isn’t fit to return to his duties just yet.” “We cannot be certain what the dark mage will try next, but we are preparing for every eventuality.” “Her Majesty is waiting inside, and she will tell you all you need to know about the steps we’re taking for the security of the people of Duren and the Katolin refugees. Her speech will begin soon.”

Eventually, the line of entering guests dwindled, and both Ezran and Callum stepped back from greeting duties. “I know you want to get out of here,” Ezran said, before heading to join Aanya, “But please try to mingle a little first? It’s important the people see for themselves that you’re recovering.”

“But I’m not,” Callum protested in an undertone. “I mean, physically, yeah, but I’ve made very little progress recovering my memories.”

“You will,” Ezran said firmly. “Just give it time.” He clasped Callum’s shoulder.

Duren Palace’s great hall was draped in colorful silks and paper lanterns, creating a festive atmosphere. Long tables lined the walls, displaying every manner of drinks and delicacies. Queen Aanya had invited a number of both commoners and nobles alike, and though they stuck to their respective classes they shared the space politely enough. Everyone’s curiosity and worry for the future appeared to be a unifying incentive tonight. Callum wandered through the throng, feeling lost.

A booming laugh a little ways away caught his attention. Callum peered over the crowd until he made out a large man dressed in Del Bar fashion wiping tears from his eyes, shaking with mirth. Callum couldn’t tell he was talking to, since they weren’t tall enough to make out over the crowd—until he spotted the horns. Though he couldn’t make out any words, he recognized Rayla’s voice, charged with barely suppressed anger. Callum made a split-second decision and started pushing through the throng towards them.

The crowd drifted apart as he drew near, and he saw Soren had beaten him there, standing at Rayla’s side with a hand on her shoulder—but in a way that he implied he was holding her back as much as offering support. The Del Baran, looking suddenly uncomfortable, mumbled something and disappeared into the mass of people.

Rayla whirled, shoving Soren’s hand from her shoulder, and started to stalk away. Soren made as if to follow her, but Rayla snapped something at him. He frowned, clearly concerned, but let her go. Callum watched as she slipped out a side door.

He didn’t realize he’d adjusted his trajectory until he found himself at the same door. Soft lights illuminated the garden, though none of the guests had gone out there, waiting inside for Aanya’s speech. He hesitated, fingers tapping the door frame. _You’re thinking about it too much_. Following the pull in his chest, he slipped out after her.

The clamor of the party behind faded to a muted hum as he made his way further into the gardens. The waxing moon above, as well as the paper lanterns, lit the garden well, and it wasn’t long before he spotted Rayla in a sitting area lined with benches set back from the main path. She hugged herself tightly as she paced around the circle, shoulders hunched.

Callum hesitated, then pushed a flowering branch out of the way and stepped into the small area.

“Soren, if you don’t fuck off, I swear by every attribute of Garlath I can think of—” Rayla whirled to face him, forest-green dress swishing about her ankles, but the stormy look on her face faded into something more miserable as she recognized him. She closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. “Callum, not now, _please_.”

“I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“Well, I’m not,” she snapped, fists now clenched at her sides. “There’s your answer. Now beat it.”

She certainly _didn’t_ look okay, which Callum wasn’t going to let stand, especially since he had a suspicion at least some of it was his fault somehow. He turned and took a step, then swayed dramatically and flung his hand up to his forehead. “Oh no! That half-glass of wine I had went straight to my head! I’m so dizzy!” He spun in a full circle and flopped onto a nearby bench. “I couldn’t possibly walk all the way back just yet!” He slumped back, throwing his arm across his eyes.

“Oh for—” He heard her huff. “You _dummy_.” But she didn’t say it meanly, more like . . . fondly exasperated?

He opened one eye and felt a surge of victory when he found her standing over him. He sat up with a grunt and scooted over to the side, allowing her space to sit next to him. She hesitated a moment, but took the offered seat.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching fireflies winking over the gardens and listening to the festivities in the palace behind them.

“I’m sorry,” Callum said eventually.

She frowned. “What for?”

“For whatever that Del Baran said. That you have to deal with people like him, still.” He looked away. _Like me, right after I woke up._

“Ehh. I’m used to it. It just . . . pushed me over the edge, a little. I’ll be fine, I just gotta be dramatic first,” she said with a small smile.

“You shouldn’t have to be ‘used to it,’’ Callum said with feeling. He looked over at the palace, brightly lit from within. “You don’t need to go back in, if you don’t want to. I’ll cover for you.”

She shook her head. “I do need to, though. I’m the only representative for the elven factions of the alliance present at the moment. I’ll need to be there for the end, at least. But thank you,” she added quietly. She glanced at him. “Especially since you don’t look like you want to go back, either.”

Callum didn’t really want to complain, since this was supposed to be about _her_ , he was here to try to make her feel better, but the words bubbled up inside him. “I don’t fit,” he bit out, finally. “I mean . . . I’m not trying to cheapen what I know you must be feeling; I know it’s not the same. It’s just . . . I didn’t fit growing up, and I still don’t.”

“No,” Rayla said. “You just don’t _remember_ how you fit.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You’re missin’ the past few years; of course you feel lost. As far as you’re aware, everything got turned upside down overnight.” Her hand fell back to her lap. “I might not fit with humans as a whole, at least not yet, but I fit with—with you, and Ez, and Soren, and Aanya and Corvus and Gren, and your aunts, and that’s enough for me.” _Aunts? Plural?_ “We’ve all changed. For the better, I hope, most of us. You too—you changed with us.”

“But I lost it,” Callum whispered. “And I don’t know if I’ll get it back.”

“Sure you will.” She bumped her shoulder against his. “You might not remember, but you found a way to learn Primal Magic, even though humans supposedly couldn’t, and everyone you met told you so.” She poked Callum in the chest. “And the stuff that made that possible? You’ve still got it. Buried, maybe. But it’s there. You’ll get it back. You won’t rest until you do.”

“You’ve got a lot of faith in me.”

“I have reason to.” She smiled. “What did you think the runes on your arm were for, mage? Aesthetic?” She tilted her head, considering. “Actually, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

 _Mage_. The word rang in his head like a crystal bell. A soft breeze whispered through his hair, and for the first time since Callum had woken up something felt _right_ —however briefly.

“I . . .” He hesitated, at a loss for words. “Thank you.”

She gave him an odd look. “For insulting your fashion sense?”

“What? No.” He smirked at her. “Besides, who are you to criticize my fashion choices, miss thigh-high boots and hooded vest?” She wrinkled her nose at him, which he had to admit was a cute look on her. “I meant . . . for calling me a mage. That . . . that felt right.” More enthused now, Callum jumped up. “Maybe I just have to remember—or re-learn?—how to do magic! Maybe that will be the catalyst!” He grinned down at her, triumphant. “That has to have been the biggest positive change for me in the past few years!”

“Yeah.” She smiled, but it was weak. “It must have been.”

He pulled her up into a hug before he realized what he was doing. She just stood stiffly, surprised, before hugging him back— _much_ tighter than he expected.

He pulled away, embarrassed. “Sorry. Are we not there yet? We’re probably not there yet. Were we there before?”

“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling faintly. “We were definitely at the huggin’ point, before.”

“Rayla, I . . . ” He searched her face, unsure how to word what he wanted to express. “I know we were really close. And I want to be there, again. But I don’t want to force it.” He looked down. “You know me, really well, and I understand that. But I don’t know _you_ , and I don’t know how to reconcile that.”

“That’s okay,” she said quietly. “However long it takes, even if it’s never, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here. In”—her voice cracked—“In both this life, and whatever lies beyond.”

A chill prickled down Callum’s spine. “What . . . what did you say?” he asked, voice hoarse, and looked up. But she was already halfway out of sight, headed back towards the palace, and didn’t hear.

He watched her leave, and couldn’t explain the emptiness he felt in his chest.

xXx

Callum stood right at the precipice, overlooking the wide, slow river cutting through the Duren countryside. He wasn’t scared, surprisingly. Maybe some of those changes had stuck with him through his memory loss, after all.

He closed his eyes and focused on the wind. Here at the highest point for miles around, it was as strong as he could find. It whipped through his hair and tugged at his clothes, as if urging him to remember. Remember what it used to mean to him. He tried to clear his mind, but the sense of loss spreading through his chest was too strong. The less he thought, the more he could _feel_ that something still wasn’t right.

With a sigh, he dropped his arms and opened his eyes. “I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

“Well, that’s a step up from ‘I don’t think it’s goin’ to work.’” He turned as Rayla came up beside him, bumping his shoulder with her own. “But after comin’ all the way out here, we should at least take some time to enjoy the scenery. Corvus won’t be back from scoutin’ for a while yet.” She sat and swung her legs over the edge.

After a moment, Callum followed suit. “It _is_ a nice view.” The Duren countryside was beautiful but different than what he’d grown up with; wide fields and rolling hills spread out before them, rather than the heavily forested slopes and valleys of Katolis. Small copses of short, stocky trees scattered the plains, including several behind them on the hillock. The sun was halfway set, throwing the sky into a gorgeous palette. It colored a slight blush onto the purple undertone of Rayla’s skin, and the breeze tugged the strands of hair that had come loose from her ponytail, framing her face. She closed her eyes, smiling, and the ache in Callum’s chest lessened somewhat.

He’d asked her to come with him. He’d meant what he said, during Aanya’s event. He did want to be friends, to have what they’d had before, whatever it had been. He twisted the ring on his finger, rubbing the familiar etched pattern, and wondered if she and Claudia had also been friends before . . . He gave himself a shake, and dropped his hands to his sides. Now was not the time.

Despite the melancholy feelings it dredged up in him, the wind was refreshing, almost energizing. Callum raised a hand, feeling the breeze eddy through and around it. “I don’t think I realized how cooped up I felt in the palace until we came out here.”

“I suppose as far as you’re aware, you went straight from livin’ in one castle to livin’ in another,” Rayla said. “Well, more palace then castle, but still. That does sound really stiflin’.” She wrinkled her nose, an expression Callum was becoming fond of.

“Yeah. Not as stifling as my own head, though.”

“I am indeed aware of how stuck you can get in your head,” Rayla agreed. She side-eyed him. “And you have that _look_ on your face right now, in fact.”

“There’s a look?”

“You can’t miss it,” Rayla assured him. “It’s not quite as distinct as your Dumb Idea Face, but it’s noticeable.”

“My Dumb Idea Face?” Callum asked, slightly put out. “What does _that_ look like?”

“Uh-uh.” Rayla shook her head. “Nice try, but no changin’ the subject.” She really _did_ know him well. “You were so adamant to get out here, but you barely try for what, five minutes? Before givin’ up?”

“I’m not giving up,” Callum said heatedly. “I just . . .” He sighed and ran a hand through his already wind-mussed hair. “It doesn’t feel right, yet. And no, it doesn’t make sense even to me. _Nothing_ makes sense.” He huffed, frustrated. “I’m missing something. I thought it was the sky magic, being a mage, but it’s not.” He looked down at his hands, his heart aching anew. “It’s in there, somewhere, but . . . until I figure it out, I think I’ll always be stuck.”

Hesitantly, Rayla reached for his hand. He tipped it towards her slightly, giving permission, and she took it. She bit her lip, face torn, then took a deep breath. “Callum—what if—”

“How about we figure it out together?”

Startled by the new voice, they both turned. Rayla was up on her feet, swords out, before Callum had even completely twisted around.

The tall figure continued up the slope as Callum got to his feet, slowly coming into focus in the gathering dark. “You were helping me figure out Primal Magic just before you lost your memory. Perhaps this time, it will work—for both of us.”

“Claudia?” Callum breathed, disbelieving. He took a step towards her.

“Callum, be careful!” Rayla warned at his side, butterfly blades at the ready. “She’s not the girl you remember.”

On one hand, Callum could see that. Most hair was stark white—not silvery like Rayla’s, but a flat, dead color, with only a few streaks of black remaining. Her cheeks were hollow, and the lines of her body more angular than he remembered. But her eyes were just the same: dark green, glinting with mischief.

“But he does remember me,” Claudia said softly. “Don’t you, Callum?” She took a step forward. “We’ve been friends all our lives. You _know_ me. Do you really know this . . . creature?” She jerked a hand at Rayla, who just rolled her eyes.

He didn’t know her. Her presence felt too _wrong_. “I did know you. I still want to,” Callum said, voice heavy. “But everyone changed, and I know you did, too. And not for the better.”

Claudia pursed her lips, hurt. “Is that what she told you?”

“That’s what everyone told me. Not just Rayla. Ezran and Soren, too. Your _brother_.”

Claudia flinched, pain flashing across her face for an instant, before she schooled her expression back to one of careful composure.

“And I knew it, too.” He shook his head. “I always loved drawing you, growing up, but the most recent ones in my sketchbook . . . I might not remember drawing them, but draw them I did.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t always know what to think, or believe, or trust, these days. But I trust myself, the me I don’t remember.”

He glanced at Rayla. Her eyes were shining, her expression proud.

He looked back at Claudia. “I’m sorry, Claudia. But I can’t go with you.” He clenched his left hand, his ring cold and hard against his finger. “No matter what we might have meant to each other.”

Claudia slowly stiffened, narrowing her eyes. “This, again, Callum?” she asked, seething. “Am I destined to always come in second place to a repulsive elven _whore_ —”

“She’s my friend,” Callum cut in angrily, “And she’s _right here._ Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Oh, how nice,” Claudia purred, the change in her tone nearly giving Callum whiplash. “How do you like that, Rayla? You’re his _friend_.” She sneered the last word.

“Yes.” Rayla’s voice shook slightly, but her stance was strong and her swords never wavered. “I _am_ his friend. I’ve always been his friend.” She raised her chin. “I love him for _him_ , not for what he can do for me. And _that_ is the main difference between us, whatever you may think.”

Callum blinked. _Wait, what?_

“Oh, but you weren’t there for him when he was our guest, were you?” Claudia asked. “It’s too bad he doesn’t remember what _fun_ we had experimenting with dark magic.” Her voice oozed like slime in Callum’s ears. Gone was any illusion that the woman before him had any trace left of the girl he once knew. Instead, in her place was a haughty dark mage, face twisted in hate. “The things we did—or, well, I did, I suppose; I imagine it wasn’t nearly as much fun for _him,_ he was at the less-fun end of those spells—”

Roaring, Rayla leapt for Claudia, the moon flashing on her blades. Claudia danced back, laughing, raising hands already wreathed in violet flames.

Callum stumbled back, bile catching in his throat. This wasn’t Claudia. This wasn’t the girl he grew up with, this wasn’t his friend…

He’d thought he’d come to terms with how the world had changed—but how was everything so _wrong?_

“Callum, get out of here!” Rayla called, grappling with several glowing, translucent orange ape-like beasts Claudia had just summoned.

No. He couldn’t just leave. But there wasn’t anything he could do either, he didn’t have any magic, and even his somewhat-returning-almost-skill with his spear wouldn’t help, considering he hadn’t bothered to bring the thing. He spotted a few stones near his feet and, absently wondering if he was wearing his Dumb Idea Face, quickly picked them up.

His aim was better than he expected, but Claudia dodged his throw with ease. She spared him an _are-you-kidding-me_ glance, more indignant than angry really, and Callum felt himself flush despite himself. “There’s more where that came from,” he said, feeling more than a little silly.

“Callum, just go, you absolute numpty!” Rayla’s voice was utterly exasperated, but tinged with worry. “Find Corvus! He’ll get you back to Duren Palace!”

“Not without you!” He flung another rock, this time nailing one of the orange things. The creature puffed out of existence.

Claudia growled in annoyance and sent a blast of violet magefire towards Rayla, still busy with the last of the magic creatures, before turning to face him. She deflected his next throw with another quick blast, then glared at him with eyes blackened by her spellcasting, and Callum shivered. “I gave you a chance to come willingly this time, remember that.”

Callum hefted his last rock and set his jaw.

Before either of them could make a move, a yell from down the slope caught them by surprise. Both swiveled to look, to find Corvus and his entire patrol thundering up the hill.

Off to the side, Callum heard Claudia curse, and oh, maybe he shouldn’t have turned away from her—

Some unseen force slammed into him, and all he could see were stars. They were screaming.

The first thing to come back into Callum’s awareness were voices, angry ones, but it took another several seconds for the ringing in his ears to fade enough for him to make out what they were saying. Meanwhile, the darkness receded and he blinked rapidly, the scene in front of him slowly blurring into focus.

It was a standoff. The glowing orange beasts were gone. Corvus had rallied his half-dozen scouts around Callum, the downslope at their backs, with Claudia backed up against the dropoff over the river, where Callum and Rayla had been sitting hardly ten minutes before. The magefire, still burning the grass in several spots, cast a crazed light in the dark mage’s eyes. She was breathing heavily, a long bloody gash down her arm. But Rayla was kneeling at her feet, bound in chains Claudia had pulled from somewhere (or maybe metal snakes? It was hard to tell), and one of her own swords was pressed to her throat.

Callum’s blood ran cold. _She wouldn’t._

“It was never goin’ to work!” Rayla was snarling, undeterred. “You’re still lookin’ at it from a Dark Magic perspective. You can’t just _steal_ someone’s understandin’ of an Arcanum. It’s doesn’t work that way.”

“Oh, shut up.” Rolling her eyes, Claudia brought the hilt the sword down on the back of Rayla’s head. Rayla slumped to the ground.

Callum tried to call out, but his voice wouldn’t work. His hands, refusing to take direction from him, scrabbled uselessly at the ground.

“Claudia, let her go,” Corvus said, a warning in his voice.

“If I can’t have Callum,” Claudia shot back, “then I’m taking _this_ as a consolation prize instead. Aaravos won’t be pleased, but my father sure will.” She flung the butterfly blade away dismissively and grabbed the back of Rayla’s vest. “Do you have any idea what one can do with an entire elf? Not as much as you can with a dragon, naturally, but it’s not at all insubstantial. My father’s been waiting for an opportunity like this.” Her smile was cruel. “And the fact that it’s _her_ is _especially_ exciting.”

 _This isn’t real. This_ can’t _be real._

“Claudia,” Callum croaked.

She looked at him, eyes cold, still smiling. “Too bad you can’t fly.” She raised her other hand, palm up, as if flaunting the golden feather resting on it. Ignoring the blood dripping from her arm, she began to chant, eyes leeching violet. The feather dissolved into ash.

Corvus swore. “Stop her!” He and several of his men leapt forward, but Claudia finished her chant and flung her handful of ash at the ground, wincing in pain. A plume of smoke burst up around her and Rayla, hiding them from view. It coalesced into a bear-sized bird, raised its wings and head to the dark sky and screeched, the most chilling sound Callum had ever heard.

_Wrong wrong wrongwrongwrong_

The bird crouched, revealing the two women now huddled on its back, then flung itself off the cliff with another horrendous shriek just as the scouts reached it.

_No . . . no!_

Callum found himself back on his feet without entirely understanding how he’d done it. The smoke bird was dwindling in the dark sky. He lurched towards the cliff, arms outstretched, the runes painted on them almost glowing in the firelight. _Too bad you can’t fly._ There was something, he could almost see it in his mind, but he couldn’t—he couldn’t—

“Callum!” Strong arms yanked him back from the edge at the last second. They spun him around until he could see Corvus’s scowling, worried face. “What the _fuck_ were you thinking—”

“I tried,” Callum whispered, voice broken. “I tried but—there wasn’t anything I—I don’t remember, Corvus, I can’t—it was so _wrong_ , she’s not like that—but she is and I—I don’t _remember_ —and now Rayla . . .” He could feel the tears streaming down his face. Oh, Primals, he was _pathetic_.

“Hey. Hey.” Corvus pulled him into a hug. Callum squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders shaking with the sobs he couldn’t bother to try and hide, chest feeling like it had been ripped open.

Rayla was gone.

How was everything so _wrong_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not sorry :D


	3. Head

iii. head

Understandably, Callum’s dreams were pretty awful once Ezran and the healers convinced him to go to bed and he slipped into a restless sleep. They churned and shifted like storm clouds above the sea, melting from one into another before he could fully process what they showed him.

Viren stood in the hallway before him, eyes black, a glowing green orb floating above his open palm. Callum tried to scream, but no sound came out.

He fell through a breathtaking orange sky, Rayla falling far below, one hand stretched up towards him. He reached for her, but she was too far.

He clung desperately to a slab of wooden planks adrift on a raging sea, rain lashing around him.

He stood atop the battlements of Castle Katolis, the full moon filling the sky above, and a tall elf with a thunderous face aimed an arrow at his chest.

He kneeled over a hole in the ice on a frozen lake, searching the dark waters desperately for any sign of life.

He gaped at the figure standing before him—himself, but with cracked gray skin and merciless black eyes. His dark twin offered him a hand, smiling.

He scrabbled at the fist of the monster of stone and fire that had him by the throat, snarling, eyes glinting like red-hot embers in its face. He couldn’t breathe, his arms weakening, and his eyes drifted shut.

 **Breathe, Callum,** a familiar voice said, wrapping around him like a gentle hug. No, someone _was_ hugging him, holding him gently with one arm rubbing up and down his back in a calming rhythm. The pressure on his throat released, and he gasped for air. He pulled back slightly, and saw a face he’d given up on hoping to ever see again long before any of this had happened.

“Mom?” he whispered.

 **Oh, sweetheart.** Sarai’s hand ghosted down the side of his face, a sad smile on her own. **Look at you, all grown up!** She pulled his head back to her chest. **What a mess you’ve found yourself in this time.**

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know what to do. _Nothing_ makes any sense. Every time I think I’ve figured out what happened, it all gets flipped upside down again.”

 **You’ve been focusing so much on a past you don’t remember, and worrying for a future you can’t see, that you’re missing what’s right in front of you.** She pulled back and tapped his nose, then gently placed her hand on his chest. **Your mind isn’t the only place where memory resides.**

He let out a wet chuckle. “Are you really telling me to listen to my heart right now?”

She laughed silently. **I suppose I am. But not just your heart. Your body remembers, too.**

“Yeah.” He looked down at his hands, clenched in his lap. “A friend of mine told me that, too.”

**See? The answers you’re looking for aren’t behind you. They’re here, now, if you look.**

“I miss you,” he whispered hoarsely, as the tears in his eyes blurred her face. “So much.”

 **Oh, Callum.** She pulled him into a hug again, cheek resting on the top of his head. **I miss you, too, more than I can ever say. But I will _always_ be with you.**

xXx

“My sister,” Soren growled, “needs to _stop_ abducting people.” He kicked his chair out from the table, the wood groaning in protest as he fell into it. “We _literally_ just did this a month ago.”

“At least we have two advantages over last time,” Ezran said from his seat near the head of the table. His eyes were red and puffy, but his expression showed only grim determination. “We _know_ what happened—that it was Claudia—and we have an idea of where she’s going.” He tightened his grip on Bait, seated in his lap as always. “Even if we don’t know what her endgame is.”

Callum, who’d been slumped over the table, straightened. “We know where she’s going?”

“We know the most likely place,” Aanya said, seated at the head of the table as was her right—this was her palace and her country, after all. “Corvus and my scouts have been reporting a slow gathering of dark magic acolytes on the Katolin side of the border for a few weeks now. They haven’t been able to get too close, but the most likely theory is that they’re gathering at the elven ruins near there.”

Ezran nodded. “As fate would have it, we sent word to Aunt—sorry, General—Amaya about a week ago, requesting her to take a squad to gather more intel and possibly rout them, if she deemed it not too risky, and she agreed. She should nearly be there by now with a combined force of Standing Battalion soldiers and Sunfire warriors.”

“Which means we can ride out with as small a force as we can scramble on such short notice and still have a decent chance,” Corvus said.

“Exactly.” Aanya folded her hands and regarded everyone at the table solemnly. “And it also means we don’t need to go through the rest of the council to do so. They already approved sending General Amaya, and they can hardly disprove my sending a small force to assist hers, considering it concerns one of Duren’s borders.”

“Officially,” Soren said, raising an eyebrow.

Aanya’s smile was tight. “Officially.”

“How soon can we leave?” Callum asked.

Everyone at the table looked at him, and for a moment there was an awkward silence. “Callum,” Ezran said quietly, “you’re not going.”

Callum felt like he’d been slapped. “You can’t be serious.”

“You’re who they were after in the first place,” Aanya reminded him. “And they’ve already managed to abduct you once.”

“Yes, but I’ll have more than one person with me this time!” Callum said. “I’ll have an entire _two_ task forces with me, as a matter of fact!”

“So will Claudia,” Soren said. “There’s a whole _group_ of dark magic acolytes. My dad might even be there.”

“ _I don’t care_!”

“I see we’re doing _this_ again, too,” Soren muttered. Corvus snorted.

“Callum.” Ezran stood and caught his eye, then tipped his head toward the door. “Can I talk to you?”

On some level, Callum had always known Rayla was closely tied to the past he’d lost. She’d been one of the most frequently featured subjects in his sketchbook, she and Ezran were incredibly close. She’d been the one to truly make him believe he’d become a mage. It figured that only now that she was gone he fully realized how important she was to his past.

 _You’re missing what’s right in front of you,_ his mother had told him.

Rayla was the key. Somehow.

But even more importantly than that, she was his _friend_ , and she was in _danger._ She was in danger because she’d stepped up to protect _him_. And now she was in the hands of someone—perhaps several someones—who were only interested in how they could make use of her because of what she was. He couldn’t bear to think of what they were doing to her.

He _had_ to get her back.

As soon as the door to the conference room closed behind them, Ezran spun to face him. “Callum, you _can’t_ go with them,” he said. “I know it’s hard. But you are in no shape to fight right now, _especially_ not Claudia or Viren, in case you missed that somehow.”

“You expect me to just _sit_ here?” Callum shot back. “Rayla’s in danger because she protected me, and I’ll be damned if I don’t do everything I can to help her.”

“Callum.” Ezran looked weary. “As much as I absolutely hate to point this out, there’s nothing you can do at the moment that Soren, or Corvus, or Amaya, or _any_ soldier could do better.”

That stung, hard, especially since Callum knew Ezran was right. But Callum knew _he_ was right, too. He couldn’t just sit back. He squared his shoulders and looked his brother in the eye. “Rayla believed I could.”

“Oh? And what does that mean to you? What do _you_ believe?”

“I—” He took a breath, forcibly swallowing his frustration. “I believe Rayla’s in danger, because of _me_ , and if there’s a chance I can help, then I have to at least _try_.”

Ezran glared at him, and Callum glared right back.

After a few moments, Ezran’s face softened, just a little. “We’ve had this argument before,” he said. “I couldn’t stop you then, and I’m not naïve enough to think I can stop you now, even if . . .” He shook his head, eyes far away, a rueful smile on his face. “Some things never change, no matter what happens. You’ll always run after her, whatever it takes.”

Something whispered in Callum’s mind, at the edge of his awareness, flitting just out of reach. He met Ezran’s gaze, and felt the truth settle in his bones.

He would run after her. Every time.

Ezran stepped up and pulled him into a hug. Callum hugged him back tightly. “Just . . . be careful,” Ezran said, voice hoarse. “I _can’t_ lose you again. And I sure as hell can’t lose _both_ of you.”

“You won’t,” Callum said.

xXx

Angry clouds roiled above, a low rumbling further advertising nature’s discontent. Callum gripped his spear tighter, only marginally more confident now that he wasn’t on horseback. What the actual _fuck_ had he been thinking? He was a liability here, just as useless as he had been when he was fourteen. Especially considering that was, like, a month ago, for him.

No. He planted his feet, set his mouth grimly. Rayla was in trouble, and he was going to do whatever it took to see her safe. He was going to see this through.

Ahead, Amaya wheeled her horse around to face the hybrid force of human Duren and Katolin soldiers and elven Sunfire warriors. Her company, alerted by messenger raven to the change in situation, had arrived first and had time to scout the area. “Remember,” she signed, Gren translating, “these men and women may only be acolytes, but their dark magic can still be deadly. Stick to your pairs.”

Soren bumped Callum’s shoulder and winked at him. Callum smiled hesitantly back.

“If Claudia comes after you, _do not engage her_. Retreat, and leave her for Janai or myself.”

The striking Sunfire woman, mounted on a winged lion of all things, nodded from her position beside Amaya. “The witch still possesses our corrupted Sunstone staff. Do _not_ engage her unless you have no other option.”

“The same for Viren?” someone asked.

“Viren will not attack you. He is . . . otherwise occupied.” Amaya caught Callum’s eye, expression grim. Callum’s heart clenched.

Until they reached the surface of the plateau, they’d be fighting uphill. To even those odds slightly, Amaya led the half-dozen mounted Duren soldiers (and the two Standing Battalion officers that Callum and then Soren had offered their mounts to) in a first storming charge over the ridge, overwhelming the dark acolytes with sheer momentum and driving them back from the edge. As Callum, Soren, and the rest of the foot soldiers crested the slope, Amaya’s Sunfire friend swooped in on her flaming winged lion—Callum’s brain stalled unhelpfully on the fact that it had two tails—to further distract the enemy.

A wide circle of stone plinths encircled the plateau. In the middle of the space rose a circular stone dais, as high as three men were tall, ringed with smaller pillars and with a single wide staircase its only access. Only three figures occupied the dais, two standing dark and tall, the third hunched but defiant in the very middle. But on the plain before it was a not insignificant number of dark mage hopefuls.

Once on even ground, the battle seemed more even. It turned out that a battle was exactly the right place to let your instincts take over. Callum managed to hold his own with his spear; any attacks he made were clumsy, but for parrying and defense he let his body lead. He and Soren silently slipped into a rhythm; Soren on offense, Callum watching his back. It felt almost natural.

The two of them fought their way towards the stairs. As they reached the clear space before it, they slowed to a halt. Claudia was descending the stairs, a sly, lazy smile on her face and a tall staff topped with a large orb set in an ornate headpiece in her hand.

“Sor-Bear, you shouldn’t have come,” she said as she stepped down from the last stair, shaking her head and tsk-ing. “This isn’t going to end pretty. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

“But you’d see me turned into a soulless cinder monster,” Soren said, voice tight. He raised his sword, stance cautious.

“Hmmm.” Claudia looked unfazed by this accusation. “Technicalities.”

From the corner of his eye, as he wasn’t making the mistake of taking his eyes off his former friend this time, Callum saw Amaya and Janai approach to flank Soren’s other side. The Sunfire woman spat something in an unfamiliar language, a glow beginning to spread beneath her skin like veins of fire. Amaya hefted her shield, and for the first time, Claudia looked uncertain.

Callum risked a glance at Soren. The crownguard nodded. “We’ve got Claudia. Go to her.”

Callum needed no encouragement. As Janai roared and the three of them charged the dark mage, he turned and raced towards the dais.

The wind rose, pulling at his jacket, slapping its edges in his face. Snarling, Callum yanked it off and tossed it aside. He leapt up the stairs two at a time. As he skidded onto the dais, both Rayla and Viren—who honestly looked very much the same as Callum recalled, though perhaps a bit thinner—turned to him in surprise.

“Callum, no!” Rayla struggled uselessly against the dark, writhing bonds chaining her to the stone. “Get out of here!”

He ignored her, rushing Viren, spear at the ready. But Viren moved quick as a viper, deflecting Callum’s clumsy strike with his staff before twisting to bring it flat across Callum’s arms. Callum yelped in pain, and his spear clattered to the ground.

“Oh, how far you’ve fallen, boy,” Viren said. “And to think I was once wary of your power, of your potential. But take that away, and what are you?” He kicked the spear away, off the side towards the ground below. “Nothing but an overgrown child, playing at being a hero in a battle you can’t even comprehend.”

Callum scrambled backward out of reach of the mage’s staff, though he knew that made no difference, with all the dark magic at the man’s disposal. But Viren only sniffed dismissively and turned back to Rayla. Callum could only watch, body refusing to move, head spinning, as the dark mage kicked at one of the short chains, yanking her back down to her knees.

“You still care for him, don’t you?” Viren shook his head, chuckling. “Even after everything that’s happened.”

“I love him,” Rayla whispered.

Viren’s smile was cruel. “How tragic, that he doesn’t feel the same.” He opened his hands, palms up, and began to chant. Wisps of dark energy reached towards the trapped elf.

Rayla closed her eyes, shuddering as the dark energy rippled over and through her, then up towards the pillars around them. “I . . . _promised._ ”

Callum’s mind whirled, faster than he could stand. The ground swayed under his feet, and he nearly fell before he caught himself on a nearby pillar, now starting to glow with a sickly light. He gasped for air, but he wasn’t taking any in. He’d been here before. This had happened before. _What happened before?_

He looked down, the battle below coming into focus. Despite their force’s larger beginning numbers, the fact that they were fighting an entirely mage-trained force soon overwhelmed them. Only two soldiers were still mounted, and both Amaya’s horse and Janai’s winged Xadian cat had been knocked out of commission. Several dark acolytes had fallen, but for each of them, more human and elven soldiers lay unmoving on the ground. Claudia was nowhere to be seen. Soren held his own against a pair of alcolytes with smoky weapons in their hands, but he was flagging. Amaya was limping, her shield in her non-dominant hand and her other arm hanging uselessly at her side. As Callum watched, Janai took a direct blast of sickly green energy and fell to her knees, Sunfire powers fading.

The wind pulled at Callum desperately, tugging at his clothes, whipping through his hair, begging him to understand.

 ** _Breathe, Callum_** **.** His mother’s voice.

A flash of silver in his periphery as the ring on his left hand caught his eye. Dazed, he brought the hand up in front of his face. It wasn’t from Claudia. Who was it from? He _had_ seen that pattern before. He frowned; not only that, but he’d seen in recently. Since he’d woken up. But where?

He’d . . . he’d seen it . . . on . . .

**_Callum, you need to breathe, sweetie._ **

He looked back, at the woman he was powerless to help, and felt his heart breaking.

The horn cuffs. He’d seen it on Rayla’s horn cuffs.

_He turned them over in his hands, marveling at Ethari’s craftsmanship. He glanced up, and there she was—ribbons draped over her horns, flowers in her hair, love and laughter in her lavender eyes. A silver ring rested in her palm._

_Where you go I will follow, where you stand I will stay, at your side I will rest._

_In both this life, and whatever lies beyond._

Viren was wrong.

His mind hadn’t remembered. But his heart had known.

“But I do,” Callum whispered. “Rayla, I love you.”

**_Breathe, Callum. Just breathe._ **

_That’s all? I just need to . . . breathe?_

_Hand. Heart._

In, and out.

 _Head_.

Memory ripped through Callum like a thunderbolt. The battle below slipped from awareness as reality snapped into place, finally connecting what he felt, what he knew, and what he’d lost. A thousand moments flashed before him, a dozen emotions filling the void in his soul.

For the first time since he’d woken, he knew exactly who he was, and for an instant he felt lighter than air.

A pained cry from behind him pulled him back to his surroundings. Oh, Primals, _Rayla . . ._ Callum whirled to face Viren. Dark energy streamed from Rayla’s motionless form.

A rune appeared in his mind, and he felt rather than heard the words deep within. Sketching frantically in the air, he willed his hoarse voice to work. “ _Fulminous spiritus_!”

His cry faded into the wind. And for an eternal, horrifying moment, the world held its breath.

Below, Soren’s sword slipped from his senseless fingers. Amaya’s heavy shield sank into the torn earth as she scrambled to support a fading Janai. Viren’s face twisted into a sneer.

Lightning exploded from the ground.

Crackling energy enveloped the dark archmage, streaking upward from the stone at Callum’s feet in a blaze of blue and white. It filled him totally, completing him in a way he hardly believed he could have forgotten. His hair sizzled with the power he couldn’t contain. The very air around him was alive. He laughed, ecstatic, and the sky above thundered its response.

Viren howled, raising his hands in a futile attempt to shield himself, and staggered back. His spell faded with the loss of his chanting, the dark magic dissolving into the air. For a brief instant the pillars flashed brighter than the sun, and then their light flowed back from where it’d been stolen.

Callum gritted his teeth, anger rising in him anew with the resurgence of his memories. What this man had done to his mother, to Harrow, to _Ezran_. To Soren, his own son. To Claudia, even if she couldn’t see it. To Callum. To _Rayla_. He took a step.

But Viren, hard as it was to move with the lightning around him, raised his staff. Callum tensed, but the dark mage only summoned a circular shadow on the ground beside him. He fell through it, vanishing from sight, and the portal dissipated behind him.

Callum let the lightning fade as he took a deep breath, pushing down his anger. There would be another chance. He turned back towards the main battle below. The fighting had ceased, every combatant from either side staring up at the dais in shock. Callum raised a hand, electricity crackling across his fingers, the wind eddying around him. Lightning split the sky above his head. “Go.”

The dark acolytes wasted no time, tripping over each other in their haste. Several soldiers made to follow, but Callum shook his head. “Let them go,” he said, projecting his voice to carry on the wind. “See to the wounded.”

Rayla was struggling to push herself up as Callum fell to his knees in front of her. As gently as he could with trembling hands, he helped her into a sitting position, frantically scanning her for signs of injury, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding when he found nothing. He unwound his scarf from his neck and wrapped it around her shoulders while she stared at him, wide-eyed. Hands falling to her upper arms, he rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes, and breathed in deeply.

This. This was _right_. This, more than _anything_ else.

How could he have forgotten her?

“I promised too,” he whispered.

A strangled sound—half laugh, half sob—escaped her. She pulled him closer with surprising strength. “Dumb . . . prince.”

He buried his face in her hair. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, holding her tight, hoarse voice muffled. “I love you. _I love you._ ”

“Oh, Callum.” She pulled back, eyes shining, her dirty, tear-stained face the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. “I know.”

And then she kissed him, more electrifying than any lightning spell, and he almost forgot who he was all over again.

(But not really.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap, folks! I absolutely did not intend for any of my Rayllum Valentine's pieces to be anywhere near this long, but I really had no control. 
> 
> I may have to come back and revisit this 'verse, because it has a lot of potential. And I also have, like, a bunch of deleted scenes that I either scrapped because I decided to write them differently or cut because they were taking away from the story I wanted to focus on (i.e., Rayla and Callum's relationship).
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope y'all liked it too! Thanks for reading!


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